


We Did (And We Didn't)

by Nitzer



Category: Block B
Genre: "kwonnie", Canon Compliant, Fluff and Angst, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, jaehyo is BITTER, jaehyo is the funniest idol i've ever seen, love my bitter boy tho, most of the boys are only mentioned, no honorifics, the angst goes on for a while tho, the summary maybe suggests something more sad than it is, we're digging up 2011, zikyung is mentioned once
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-21
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-20 23:40:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12444468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nitzer/pseuds/Nitzer
Summary: "I watched—trees, streetlights, other cars, ever moving darkness—everything pass by Minhyuk’s face and, on the verge of consciousness didn’t feel the sharp twist of something in my chest."Jaehyo remembers all the times that he and Minhyuk did and all the times that Minhyuk didn't.





	1. prologue

**Author's Note:**

> this while also being some sweet sweet jaebomb was also kinda my send-off to block b bc it really looked like those boys were heading towards a retirement but now there's a comeback date so some of this doesn't apply anymore lol, also this takes place right after that "Leaving" episode with jaehyo and b bomb bc it straight-up killed me

It really wasn’t fair to have us say nice things to each other in a cute, cozy little café by the sea, right before a long ride home. It was too many things working against me at once. And I was a little emotional because I was always a little emotional and I saw a lot of pretty things that day and said a lot of things that I hadn’t really vocalized in a while. So when the lights and cameras were all packed up and Minhyuk and I were escorted home (because we both had a _little_ bit of alcohol like six hours ago) in the back of car, driving along softly-lit streets, I was feeling a lot like a little kid coming home from vacation.

The car ride was smooth and I was exhausted and still a little damp and warm and cozy in the big sweaters we changed into after the beach and long car rides had always left me feeling a little bit sleepy. I was gonna pass out at some point in this drive. That was just a fact. Minhyuk looked like he was feeling the same way, drowsy and little slow in the seat next to me.

“I’m gonna fall asleep.” He admitted.

I laughed, not as loud and unrestrained as it was for the rest of the day but small and respectable. “You would’ve been driving us home if I didn’t let you have that beer.”

“My savoir.” He joked.

“I’m not trying to die because my driver fell asleep in the middle of the drive either.”

“Your jokes are funnier when the cameras are off.” Minhyuk muttered, content and snuggled into his seat.

I really didn’t need any more sweet words from our “ordinary presence.” I didn’t need any sweet words from him ever. They always sat on my mind for too long. But it wasn’t like there was much else to focus on. I could watch the scenery through the window (over the profile of Minhyuk). I could look through my photos from the day (most of Minhyuk). I could check my instagram (full of comments about Minhyuk and our trip). He wasn’t talking to me anymore at least. I could just doze off (and probably dream of him). At least the last one was a gamble and not a guarantee.

Lights rushing by through the car window made me feel calmer than anything else in my life, always had. I watched—trees, streetlights, other cars, ever moving darkness—everything pass by Minhyuk’s face and, on the verge of consciousness didn’t feel the sharp twist of something in my chest.

In a moment of near-consciousness I registered Minhyuk’s head resting on my shoulder, his heavily spiked hair poking my face. I didn’t pull away, he was warm and his sweatshirt was soft and he smelled like something familiar and nostalgic. One hand found his sweatshirt and twisted itself in determinedly. It was a reflexive gesture, something leftover from a long, long time ago. I wasn’t awake enough to stop it.

I weaved in and out of consciousness, soft lights blending into dreams about soft lights and Minhyuk’s scent blending into half-fabricated memories of something sweet. My dream-version of Minhyuk never twisting that thing in my chest, never leaving me feeling like my insides were spilling out. It was only warm and soft with him.

I woke up for good with the sharp lights of a parking lot close to Seoul but not quite there. Minhyuk was still on my shoulder. My hand was still in his shirt. He was still asleep, thankfully. I poked him in the stomach to wake him up, putting a more comfortable distance between us. “You could’ve blinded me with those spikes.” I warned, voice sleep-rough.

He didn’t wake up with a start, with fear, with disgust on the tongue like I did. His face was blank and soft and nothing to fear. Something my common sense and not my experience was telling me. He grumbled his way out of sleep. By the time he blinked into the harsh lights, I was firmly in my seat and not leaning on him in any way. “Are we there?”

“No, the driver just refused to go any farther because he hated your snoring so much.” Minhyuk didn’t snore, I spent enough nights with him to know that.

“I don’t snore!” He protested, waking up finally and getting himself out of the car.

“I think I’d know what you do in your sleep better than you.” We thanked the production staff (the poor guy that had to drive us around half the day we thanked like four times) and walked up to cars that were neatly side-by-side in the nearly empty lot.

Minhyuk had something playful in his eyes. “I had fun, Jaehyo.” He threw my words back at me. I wanted him to know that I wrote that one first. That I only planned on saying that much to him and saving my prickly, funny image but that the minutes dragged on and my whole body was filled with longing and affection and I dumped just the tiniest fraction of it into the second letter.

I snorted. “What a beautiful sentiment, Minhyuk.”

He visibly deflated a little bit but, to be fair, I had always been much funnier than him and I don’t know what he expected. “Get home safely.”

“I’ll post a selca when I get there.” I joked and blew him a kiss.

I put up a bare-faced, sleepy picture from the dorms that night right before midnight anyway.


	2. hissing and biting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one got out of hand and also i maybe take a few light jabs at both zico and b bomb (who could guess that jaehyo is my bias?)

The dorms were getting real fucking sad. Jiho abandoned them the second we stopped all sharing that one bedroom (Jiho abandoned everything the second he felt it wouldn’t raise eyebrows). And then Kwonnie was getting his own apartment (but he’d keep in touch, he swore) which was no surprise with his to himself nature and long-time girlfriend. Then Minhyuk was out and I stopped feeling like the dorms were home at all, more like a storage locker full of my old electronics. Kyung left but left most of his stuff in the dorms and stayed every once in a while (“It’s just like having two houses.” He told us once he moved out). Jihoon leaving was maybe one of the worst feelings I’d ever experienced, disappointment mixed with embarrassment and the same “empty nest” feeling my parents probably had.

So it was just me and Taeil. And Taeil was spending more nights away (I didn’t ask where, it seemed intrusive). I felt like a kid who should’ve moved out of his parents’ by now. A dorm with seven bedrooms, five more or less abandoned, was a perfect place to wallow and constantly be dogged by memories of better things. But I had better things to do. Like play video games (my soldier 76 was gonna be legendary) or literally send myself out to sea to catch fish (and be away from the empty hellhouse that tormented me constantly).

I was supposed to be apartment hunting still—I would rather be dead than the last one in that sad fucking dorm—and I mean I was, I could do it from my phone. But I wasn’t visiting any of them at the moment. And with nothing looming on the horizon with Block B, I was free as long as I didn’t come up with any solo projects. Free for video games.

It was late afternoon some time, one of many free days for me. I was still in the cutesy pajamas I only put on for the selca, not quite feeling like a morning person anymore. Whatever, time was meaningless without a schedule.

“Good morning!” It wasn’t Taeil’s light and musical little voice. It wasn’t Kyung’s obnoxious tone either. Stalker? Crazy fan? Manager? _Jiho_?

My heart stopped. I was gonna die. My short and beautiful life ended here, in this fucking dorm.

“Oh god,” it was Minhyuk crouched besides me on the floor, not a real threat. Which would’ve been a comfort and all if my heart wasn’t the one on the verge of killing me now.

I was bent over, hand clutched to my chest, trying to get the beating to slow down (or maybe I was trying to get it to start? It was hard to tell what it was doing through all the adrenalin). “You are going to _kill_ me.” I hissed.

“I live here.” He defended. “I don’t know why I scared you so much.”

“You don’t live here anymore. I barely do.” I said in same, low tone, getting myself up.

He looked uncomfortable, for once reading the atmosphere and not knowing what to do with it. “Sorry.” He muttered.

My heart fucking twisted, as sharply and violently as if someone had stuck their hand in my chest. I was mad at him—furious—but I hated hissing at him and lashing out like a scared cat. I wanted to be better than that. I wanted to be past that.

“Do you, uh, want some coffee?” It was a peace offering, almost a nice gesture after sneaking into the dorms for the first time since he left-left.

“Coffee tastes like dirt.” It was like I was watching my own, stupid mouth say stupid, bitter shit and I had no control. I was being as bitter and gross as black coffee. “I’ll take tea, though.” Tea was still bitter but sometimes it was spiked with things like flowers and mint and even if it wasn’t sweet, it was interesting.

Minhyuk acted like this erased all the tension between us and searched through the miserably messy and under-stocked kitchen for tea. I didn’t want to snap at Minhyukie but I wasn’t exactly happy about him being back at the dorms either. It felt like pity. It felt like I was a forgotten, old relative somewhere and the dancer was feeling bad about never visiting. “Cute PJs, by the way, I think I’ve seen them before.” There was a slyness to his tone. He was dancing around saying anything in the most obvious way possible. Maybe he was talking about my late-night selca (did he think it was for _him_?) or he could’ve been talking about any of the nights we spent together, not that I ever really paid attention to my _wardrobe_ on those nights.

“Just for you, babe.” I teased. It was fanservice without the fans. We weren’t on “babe” terms anymore, if we ever had been to begin with. Minhyuk had managed to find one of my flowery tea packets in the kitchen somewhere and coffee for himself. “Why are you here anyway?” I tried to keep the question as neutral as possible, tucking all my venom away.

“Just to visit.” It was simple, almost came with a shrug. He just wanted to visit. He almost straight-up killed me with shock, just to visit.

“You don’t _visit_.” I mocked “Jihoon comes home to visit.” But only when Taeil was there. “Kyung comes home to visit.”

“Kyung comes back to the dorms when he’s a little too drunk and his apartment is too far away.” Minhyuk corrected like he had been there for those nights. (He hadn’t, for the record, it was always me and Taeil dealing with a too-handsy, too-affectionate, drunk Park Kyung.)

“Whatever,” I conceded, “you haven’t been back here once since you moved out. You can’t just show up and expect me to think it’s normal.”

He laughed sadly. “I thought we might finally be on good terms again.”

“Why? Because yesterday? Because I did a _broadcast_ with you?” I was bitter—I was beyond bitter. I was hysterical and furious. He thought one nice day could erase two years of watching everyone drift away, of having to rebuild my image, my identity, my _life_ by myself. “I’m not some stupid puppy that will always come running back to you whenever you decide to show up, _Minhyukie_.” I hissed, the nickname rolling off my tongue like poison.

“ _I_ leave _you_ alone?” He asked, eyes sparking and furious. It was the same anger, the competitiveness, the combative nature I always pulled out of Minhyuk. It was usually on purpose, though, it was usually to bring him to the front of the group during a broadcast. It was to make something interesting happen without Kyung or Jihoon there to spark it. It wasn’t on purpose this time. “Am I the one who never answers texts? Who never mentions me? Am I the one who never directly answers any question? Am I the one putting distance between us, Jaehyo?” Minhyuk never had a cute nickname for me, no one else did either and my name just hanging there in the bitter silence might as well have been a physical wound.

“I didn’t leave you to rot in this fucking dorm. I didn’t walk out of your life and decide I wasn’t worth the time.”

“You did!” He almost screamed, frustrated. “You holed yourself up here and only answered me when you wanted to fucking play video games. You’re the only one in the group that’s never been to my apartment, you know? And I invited you first.”

“Jiho?” I asked, somewhere between hurt and defensive. There was no way that elusive, always busy, to-himself Jiho had been and I hadn’t.

He just nodded. “Jihoon managed to get him over one night.”

I almost didn’t believe that I put up those defensive walls with my own group. I used to sleep in a room with all of them. We used to share a single fucking bathroom. There was no room in our cramped quarters for emotional walls but I managed it anyway.

“I missed you a lot—I miss you a lot—I have never been more excited for a broadcast than Leaving because it was going to be with you. And it just fucking changed nothing. It was everything I wanted for one day and then you’re the same miserable, hissing cat you’ve always been.” He waved his hand like he was disgusted and done.

“You don’t get to carve out wounds in me and then fix them with a cute, little bandaid.” And it was the most vicious parade of memories of nights in hotels with Minhyuk and never any nights at home and our fingers interlaced at shows but never anywhere else and him always choosing the places and terms for whatever affection he tossed my way. “I haven’t spent a night with you since Japan.” I hissed. “I haven’t spent a night with you in a proper bed since the old dorms.”

“That’s the only time you will _let_ me!” His hands were running through hair that was soft against his head for once. “I told myself that I wouldn’t come back to the dorms because you only seem to hate me when I do anything to suggest that I miss you. But I’m here because for once it seemed like you didn’t hate me and I miss you so much and I thought maybe you’d let me miss you for once.”

It was a heavy and thick silence that I didn’t want to bear the responsibility to. So I did and I didn’t. And I fisted my hand in his shirt, somewhere between starting a fight with him and starting something else. I started something else. Minhyuk’s lips were home and I had been away for a long, long time. His arms were around me almost immediately, like it was reflex, like it was something he couldn’t control. It was all muscle-memory, all things I couldn’t erase from my memory, all things I thought I would never have a use for ever again.

Minhyuk pulled back, looking like it took all his strength to do so. I was left chasing his lips almost pitifully, I couldn’t stop myself though. “Are you letting me miss you? Are you letting me do this?” He asked, lips barely off mine, eyes too close, too serious.

And fucking around in the dorms was over. Open-mouthed kisses in the bathroom before bed was over. Sneaking into hotel beds in unfamiliar cities was over. Timid, unsure touches, not sure if we really were allowed this kind of intimacy was over. Always saying things that could mean anything was over. And so I nodded and he let me chase his lips and bury myself in him. Minhyuk made my heart twist and he made my breath stutter and he put poison on my tongue and he smelled like home and he made me freeze over to feel like I was protected and he started fires of affection in my chest that melted everything down and I loved him. I just loved him.

And I wasn’t bitter for once. For moments (maybe for the rest of forever) I didn’t feel betrayed, I didn’t feel forgotten. “Stay the night?” It was a plea, I was begging. I wanted something concrete, some promise that it wasn’t another night somewhere in Japan. That this wasn’t just some oasis in the middle of my miserable desert.

He smiled, thumb on the arch of my cheekbone. “I’ve been trying to get you to stay the night since I moved out, princess.”

I would take offense to the “princess” later. I was too soft, too melted to find anything sharp in my mind to throw at him. It two in the afternoon, maybe three by now, and we were giggling through the empty dorm like we used to back in trainee days (I could count the amount of times we got an empty dorm back then on one hand). We were too old (approaching thirty, jesus) and it was too early to be prancing around like teenagers left alone for a day. But we were.

And I was on my shitty dorm bed, breath stuttering, voice stuttering. Minhyuk rolled his hips in the smoothest motions, snapping them up sharply whenever I got used to his tempo. “Fuh-fuck.” I managed, my mouth right up against his neck.

“Don’t tell me you forgot about my one talent.” He teased, hips stilling, hands buried in my PJ shirt that was starting to feel impractical and restricting (buttons? Why did I bother with something with _buttons_?).

I wanted to say something sweet and off-putting like “you know you have more than one talent” but Minhyuk’s hips were a wonder and a gift and I was a little beyond having something witty ready to roll off the tongue. “Hard to forget.” Found its way out of my mouth in place of anything intelligent. They were, though. Minhyuk never missed a chance to talk about his ass, to swing his hips to some girl group song. And I had plenty of intimate experience with how beautifully he could move his hips, with the impressive amount of control he had.

“Sweet sentiment.” I guess he ran out of suave words (he was always quiet, in-control, hard to unravel when I gave him the upper-hand) and nudged me out of the junction of his neck to kiss me. His hands were more sure, placed firmly on my waist, no tentative fear like I’d try to wiggle out of it. I let myself (or do I? It hardly seems like a conscious decision) be clingy, just the smallest amount. It is hands twined in his hair, holding him close when I maybe don’t have to.

Then Minhyuk is sappy, melted, too soft and too full of love in a way he has never let himself be before (or maybe I was the one stopping him). His eyes hold mine for meaningful seconds that feel too long and make me bashful. “No wonder you’re the visual.” His whispers and it is too intimate, it means too much. Even if the words are cheesy as shit.

My brain desperately wants to diffuse the situation by saying something depreciating like, “they made a mistake when they didn’t choose Kwonnie” or something snappy and bitter like, “what an original compliment, Minhyukie” but my brain isn’t in charge for once. I handed everything over to Minhyuk. I shoved my fragile, red little heart into his hands, trusting him to be careful for once. And I told my brain to chill. And so nothing escapes my mouth at all. My eyes hold his until my lips are on his and I just accept the compliment. I let it mean something.

I let it mean something and Minhyuk lets it mean something. So every touch happens with intent and his whispers are sweet and every word out of his mouth no longer makes me shutter because he’s saying more, he’s saying so much. There’s praise and affection and groans and surprise in Minhyuk’s voice and it usually carries on so softly but suddenly is sure.

It was early evening sometime, I was finally in an old sweatshirt and boxers instead of proper PJs and there was an empty pizza box decorating the table now. “I don’t remember your room—fuck, even your hotel rooms—looking this neat.” Minhyuk said from the spot on my bed he’d claimed.

I was making sure I hadn’t missed any messages or anything important, reclined in my computer chair. “Well, I’m moving out.” I said without thinking, the first time I said anything of the sort to anyone but my managers.

“Oh?” My dancer perked up, pushing himself upright on my bed. “Where to?” His tone was suggestive somehow and I didn’t care for it.

“Certainly not with you, I’m trying to be independent here.” I had gotten too used to having plenty of space, to being left alone most of the time. The idea of living on top of someone again (even just one person, even just Minhyuk) made me feel claustrophobic.

He deflated slightly, but holding any hope that I was just going to run away with him seemed foolish to me anyway. “I mean, I didn’t think so, somewhere close maybe?”

I smirked, turning my chair like I was hiding something. “We’ll see what’s available.” I probably wouldn’t. I certainly wasn’t going to actively look for something close to Minhyuk, it was just impractical.

I let him settle into his hopeful silence, though. “You know why I moved out?” He asked after a while.

“Because the dorms always sucked?” I supplied.

He laughed. “I mean yeah,” and there was a soft, almost fragile pause, “but like you guys never noticed when I was here and when I wasn’t. You always left without me and never noticed if I came home late or if I was missing for meals or anything. I figured if I was just gonna get ignored and forgotten I might as well get my own bathroom.” He laughed to himself. “You wanna know what the last straw was? When I actually started looking for my own place?” I just let him continue, there wasn’t a witty comment to fit in when he was so exposed. “It was like the fifth time I walked in on Jiho and Kyung humping on the couch because they thought they were the only ones home. And I realized that you guys really never kept track of me at all. And also that I really didn’t wanna be a part of those two’s _thing_ again.”

I choked on laughter, even though I felt it was inappropriate. I mean our two producers’ _thing_ was obvious but most of us still enjoyed their attempts at keeping it to themselves. Five times? How unlucky. “If you stuck around long enough you would’ve gotten your own bathroom and Kyung and Jiho would be feeling each other up at their own apartments.” I tried to joke with him. The feeling of being left behind and forgotten was still a little too close to home for me.

“Yea, but Kyung still knows the passcode to this place, so is it really worth it?” I couldn’t tell if he even knew about the cold atmosphere he created. He was notoriously bad at telling the mood.

“I’m moving out for a reason.” I guess it was up to me to ease up the atmosphere he created. We already made enough of our own drama today. It was a day off. It shouldn’t feel like this. I left whatever important messages or updates there were alone and tried to make room for myself on my bed. “Did you forget how to share a bed with all your time alone?” I asked, eyebrows raised.

Minhyuk pressed himself against the wall, leaving a space for me to nestle into. “Not my fault these beds are fucking tiny.”

“Used to be fine for you.” And there was still some bite in me (still plenty, enough to last me all my earthly years and then some) but it wasn’t uncontrollably rolling off my tongue with Minhyuk anymore. There was something there—something sweet and meaningful—to hold it back. And I could let myself settle into his embrace for once since we all shared that one bedroom (and that one bathroom). It was too early to sleep for such a late morning but maybe I wouldn’t sleep.

I twisted my fingers into his shirt, still perfectly conscious, absolutely able to stop myself, but I didn’t feel the need to anymore. Minhyuk’s hand rested easily on my side and for once I got to stay there, wrapped up in his familiar scent and not dread morning. I got to imagine, without hurting myself, without settling something painful in my chest, what the morning light would look like on Minhyuk’s profile and what waking up warm and loved would be like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love my boy too much to let him be that bitter forever


	3. epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you haven't seen the "Freeze!" era, do yourself a favor bc it's a hot mess (but Jaehyo looks good)

Minhyuk’s apartment was clean and neat and, I’m sure, very similar to his room back in the dorms when he still lived there. I really didn’t remember what his room back in the dorm was like, though. Probably because it was clean and neat and he’s been out of the dorms for so long now. What had been his room (or was that Kwonnie’s room?) had been empty for song long now. And everything else at the dorms was always so cluttered and full of toys and unfolded clothes and hats (so many fucking _hats_ ) that it was hard to pick out anything that you didn’t fucking trip over and Minhyuk was always careful where he put his stuff. Plus I usually pulled Minhyuk into my room for the night and not the other way around.

There were cute, little toys and souvenirs on shelves and all around his desk, snapbacks and wall scrolls tacked up almost tastefully for snapbacks and wall scrolls. I don’t even know where Minhyuk got all the snapbacks, he was usually in beanies (and he looked so much better in beanies, beanies and sweaters and overcoats—looking all warm and soft and inviting). His comforter looked almost out of place in his plain apartment, a nice yellow with white polka dots and I buried myself in it once I got in.

I was decorating my Line house on one side of the bed and Minhyuk was looking through some broadcast offers on his side. I could feel his eyes on my profile. But I really needed to find a good place for the giant teddy bear I just won in the gacha, he could ask if he wanted something. His arm snaked its way across the small bed, tugging on strands of my neatly-placed hair. “How long have you had this hairstyle?”

“As long as you’ve had those stupid spikes.” It was off my tongue before I really thought of it. His hair was soft against his head still, though, bangs at the worst length possible without being swept up. I genuinely couldn’t believe he’d kept the hairstyle this long. He’d done better.

His hands found their way into my hair, making me lean into him. “You remember when you had that cute, little ponytail?”

“Why would you ever bring up 2011?” I groaned.

“You looked good, though,” his hand was carded firmly in the hair on the back of my head, “you were the only one that pulled off that era.”

I let myself lean on his shoulder. “I’ve done better.” I scoffed. “Besides we all agreed to lock that era up for good reason.”

“Jiho?” Minhyuk’s eyes were sparkling with nostalgia and laughter.

“He’s had a ton of bad looks, though,” he had, almost as many as his good ones, maybe more, “they fucked Taeil up the worst that album.”

“Taeil?! Do you remember Kyung?” He almost screeched, voice not meant for such high notes.

And it was a sudden and unpleasant flashback to that horrible asymmetrical haircut every group went for back in 2011. “Oh my god, I blocked that one out.” I sighed. “This is why we don’t talk about 2011.”

“I wouldn’t except you looked good back then, I miss the ponytail.”

I scoffed. “The only reason you miss that stupid ponytail is because you miss pulling it when you fuck me.” It was shocking how easily it was to talk about our debut days, sneaking around and handsy in a one-bedroom dorm with five bandmates. It was a shock that it didn’t hurt to bring it up for once.

His eyes twinkled playfully and tried to subtly but not so subtly get me to lay down on his lap. “Maybe it had a purpose beyond being cute.” He shrugged like he was being sly.

I humored him and settled into his lap anyway. It was nice to want attention and affection like this and actually be able to get it for once. “What’s the purpose for the spikes then?”

“What’s the purpose for the bowl cut?” He shot back.

“Frames my cute face.” I poked my fingers into non-existent dimples and played cute.

With my head resting comfortably in his lap, hands absently running through my hair, I guess Minhyuk was content and I went back to my Line house. His hands stuttered for a moment. “Is that my sweater?” He asked.

I looked down. It could be mine. Minhyuk and I had probably the closest personal styles in the group, both erring on the side of preppy and put-together. But it could’ve been his too. I wasn’t an expert at telling our clothes apart or anything. “…No.” I settled on to be defiant.

“It _has_ to be mine.” He tugged at the tag like it would have his initials or something. “I swear I remember buying this.”

I had vague memories of putting on whatever shirt or sweater seemed the comfiest, leaving Minhyuk’s apartment before but didn’t remember what any of them looked like. And I had an extensive wardrobe of sweaters, I couldn’t keep track of them all. “Why would I want any of your clothes, Minhyuk?” I asked with no bite and all play.

He leaned back against the headboard. “Fine, it’s yours, you’ll probably leave it here some time anyway.” He conceded.

I was frozen for a second with the realization that I _would_. That I would be back here, whenever I pleased, not on some schedule that Minhyuk threw together. That I would show up and be loved and fucked and understood and remembered and heard. That I would leave a sweater here that could be mine or could be Minhyuk’s. That our lives had finally found a healthy way to intertwine. That this stupid, not-even-that-cute sweater was the place where Minhyuk’s life met mine and I felt warmth and security and happiness.

I’d leave this sweater on Minhyuk’s apartment floor (or bed or chair) one day and he’d slip it on some other day when it didn’t smell like me anymore and never even realize that this was a thing we shared. And then maybe one day he’d leave the same sweater at my apartment and I’d only remember it because how important it seemed today. There was a promise of a shared future—not a serious one but more of a promise than I’d ever gotten before, from anyone in the group.

“It’s mine.” I said defiantly again, adjusting it from all of Minhyuk’s tugging and settling back in his lap.

“It’s _ours_.” He corrected and I pretended to fight it but my heart fizzed with possibilities and hope.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was just a little bit of fluff to convince you guys (and myself) that ch2 wasn't just "another night in Japan" and that the boys finally worked something at least relatively healthy out


End file.
